


two of cups

by octocorn



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Is Trying His Best, Dream Sharing, Fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, blue & adam friendship, figuring out his FEELINGS yk, gansey & ronan friendship, gift giving as a love language, laughter as a love language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octocorn/pseuds/octocorn
Summary: He bit the bullet. “I guess it’s… Ronan.”Blue said, “What’d he do now?”Adam laughed for real this time. “Nothing. I mean. Not yet.”Blue followed the movement of his hand and cocked her head, trying to read the spread of cards upside down. She spent a moment studying them. He held his breath, knowing what she would see there. Blue might not be psychic, but she’d grown up with this stuff—she probably knew the theory behind it better than he did. He felt strangely flayed open, knowing what she was looking at. He almost wished he’d picked them up before she could see, but it wouldn’t matter once he told her, anyway.Blue said, “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together.”
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 101
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this came about for several reasons. 1) I always wanted Adam to more exhaustively (over)analyze his potential relationship with Ronan and how he feels about him. 2) What if Adam chose to confide in Blue instead of Gansey. 3) What if Ronan chose to confide in Gansey instead of NO ONE (and also all of this happened nebulously prior to all of the Events so as to make things a lot less complicated for me, the author...)
> 
> not COMPLETELY sure where i'm going with this but i grew attached to it, hope you enjoy lol

Adam sat in a patch of scraggly grass and clovers in the backyard of 300 Fox Way. He wasn’t sure why he came here or what he was looking for, only that when he was on his way home from work, he’d found that the Hondayota was idling in front of the old Victorian house rather than driving back to St. Agnes. 

Maura told him that Blue would return from dog walking in a few minutes, so he accepted a noxious smelling tea and waited for her under the sprawling beech tree. 

He had five cards laid out in front of him in a cross: three of swords reversed, Justice, eight of wands, seven of cups, two of cups.

He pulled another card for clarification: The Moon. This was the card that always came up for Ronan in his readings. He sighed. Of course Ronan was at the center of the tangled mess inside him. Of course he was. 

Adam heard the door open behind him but he didn’t turn to look. Instead he took the couple of seconds it took for their footsteps to reach him to school his face into something approaching neutral rather than whatever it had been doing when he’d been thinking about Ronan. 

Blue’s voice came from beside him. “Adam,” she said, “Mom told me you were out here.”

He looked up at her and gave her a smile that felt awkward in his mouth. “Hey, Blue.”

Blue flopped down onto the ground in front of him. She was swimming in some kind of torn up and patched men’s sweater that made her look ridiculously tiny. She said, “What’s up?”

Adam wanted to play it cool for awhile, work himself up to it, but after the last time they’d spoken one on one, it seemed silly to pretend he was just here to hang out when they both knew Adam had come here for a reason, even if it had taken the cards to help him figure out what it was. 

So he said, “I was wondering if I could ask your advice. I know we haven’t really been… after that fight we had…” 

Blue looked surprised and said, “Oh! Sure. You know, we’re fine, Adam, I don’t want you to think we can’t talk or hang out or anything.” She kicked his leg. “You’re always welcome.”

“Great. Good. Thank you.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, until Blue prompted, “Well?”

He wasn’t quite ready so he said, “Well what?”

Blue sighed and kicked him again. “You’re stalling.”

“God. I don’t know where to start.” He slid a hand over his face and into his hair. “You’re gonna think I’m delusional.”

“I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot of pretty weird stuff over the last year. I doubt that whatever you have to talk about could be  _ so _ unbelievable. Is it weirder than seeing a real life dragon fight in the middle of a high school party?”

Adam huffed out a breath, something like a laugh without energy put into it. “No,” he admitted. 

“Well, there you go.”

His thumb traced the edges of the Moon. He bit the bullet. “I guess it’s… Ronan.”

Blue said, “What’d he do now?”

Adam laughed for real this time. “Nothing. I mean. Not yet.”

Blue followed the movement of his hand and cocked her head, trying to read the spread of cards upside down. She spent a moment studying them. He held his breath, knowing what she would see there. Blue might not be psychic, but she’d grown up with this stuff—she probably knew the theory behind it better than he did. He felt strangely flayed open, knowing what she was looking at. He almost wished he’d picked them up before she could see, but it wouldn’t matter once he told her, anyway. 

Blue said, “You two have been spending an awful lot of time together.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hmm”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

Blue raised her eyebrows, doubtful. She took a breath and said, “Look, I’m just going to come out and say it.”

“O-kay.”

“Are you and Ronan dating?”

Adam was shocked into stillness for a moment before he could force out a panicked-sounding, “No. Jesus. Why would you think that?” 

“He was at your apartment when Gansey came to pick you up last week.”

“So what?”

“It was eight in the morning. Did he sleep there?”

Adam realized he was still holding the Moon and set it down on top of the spread with a  _ fwip. _ His ears felt hot and he resisted the urge to cover them with his hands. He said, “Yes. He does that sometimes. It doesn’t mean we’re dating.”

Blue narrowed her eyes at him. “Hooking up then?”

“No! Blue, come on.”

_ “Okay, _ fine. You don’t need to get defensive. It’s not an unreasonable question.”

And it wasn’t, not really. That was sort of the problem. Adam said, “I think he likes me.”

Blue nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

“Oh.” Adam hadn’t expected her to agree so readily. 

“What?”

“I always wondered if anyone else noticed the way he looks at me. Or if I was making it all up, or—”

“He made you a  _ mixtape,”  _ Blue interjected, like it was all the evidence she needed, and maybe it was. 

Adam blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

“So, what’s the problem? You don’t know what to do about it?”

Adam shook his head. 

“Do you like him back?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t  _ know? _ How could you not  _ know?” _

“I don’t know!”

“It’s a simple question.”

“No, it’s not. It’s… confusing.”

Adam was afraid she would ask how he’d known he’d liked her, why it was so much harder this time around, and he didn’t have a good answer. Maybe it was because she was a girl and more like what he expected to get out of a relationship, or maybe it was just because it was Ronan and he always made everything so much more difficult than it had to be. 

“Well, how do you feel when he looks at you in that way that he looks at you?”

He recalled the last time Ronan had looked at him like that. It was barely two days ago. They were in the Monmouth parking lot, leaning against the Pig, waiting for Gansey. Adam had caught him looking, and his indifferent expression wasn’t a good enough mask. Something burned behind his eyes, scorching him. And what Adam felt then was breath held in his lungs, racing heart, muscles coiled, a plummeting in his stomach. 

He said, “Tense.”

Blue’s face contorted into something confused and judgemental. “Tense… okay.”

“This is stupid.”

Blue dropped her hands to her sides, indignant. “What, why?”

“It’s impossible to sort out my feelings about Ronan. Do you know how many different things he makes me feel on a daily basis?” 

“Ohh.” Blue perked up a little, interested. “Like what?”

“Annoyed, for one.” 

“Stop being difficult.”

“I’m not trying to be difficult, I’m telling you that I don’t know. How do you know if what you feel for someone is… is friendship. Or if it’s more than that?”

“First of all, platonic relationships are not  _ lesser  _ than romantic relationships.” Adam rolled his eyes, and she continued slightly louder like he’d tried to talk over her. “But, I just know, Adam. The difference seems pretty obvious to me.”

“So explain it like it’s not obvious.”

“I… I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just a feeling.”

“How did you know you wanted to be with Gansey, instead of just being his friend?”

To Blue’s credit, she only looked guilty for half a second before regaining her composure. She was quiet for a moment, and unconsciously she mimicked Gansey’s thoughtful nervous tic, rubbing her thumb across her lip. Then she said, “I guess… I feel at ease around him. Like myself. I feel understood. And, well. It’s silly, but I like the way he smells. It makes me want to be close to him. I… I want to hold his hand. All that stuff.”

“Hm.” That didn’t help. 

She asked, “Are you attracted to Ronan?”

“I don’t know.”

Blue threw her hands up, exasperated. He half expected her to say,  _ well what  _ do _ you know? _ But she said, “Okay, fine, so think of it this way: would you want him to stop? If you could—” She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “—And make it so he doesn’t have any feelings for you of the romantic variety, would you do it?

The answer came to him with startling immediacy, but he took his time to form the word, so she wouldn’t get any ideas. “No.”

But Blue still looked entirely too delighted. She said, “Adam. Parrish.”

He covered his face with his hands. “God, I don’t even know that he does have feelings. Maybe I’m just projecting.”

_ “Projecting?” _

Adam was quick to correct himself, “I mean, reading too far into it.”

“I doubt that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re very good at reading people, you know. If you think he likes you I’m inclined to believe you. Also he gave you a  _ mixtape.” _

Adam laughed—a small, contained sound. He had to brace himself to say the next part. “I just—I don’t want him to stop looking at me, or feeling—however he feels about me. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable, or anything… the opposite, actually. I like it.” Adam couldn’t look at her as he said this so he toyed with a loose piece of rubber on the edge of his sneaker, fighting the urge to just tear it off. “But what if it’s just because I like that someone like  _ that _ could look at me and think I’m worth—I don’t know.”

“Someone like  _ what?” _

Adam waved his hand, dismissive. “You’ve met him.”

Blue leered and leaned forward a little to say, “So you think he’s hot.”

Adam could feel heat rising to his face. It wasn’t necessarily what he’d meant, but it was close enough. A surface scratch, anyway. He had a stupid urge to lie, but he said, “I don’t—I guess, yeah.”

“Oh-ho!” She crowed. 

_ “Objectively.” _

Objectively, Ronan was startlingly handsome, magnetic and beautiful enough to get stared at on the street. Even if Adam wasn’t attracted to him, he would be able to see that. Anyone would. 

“Just objectively?” 

Quietly, Adam admitted, “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Why not?”

Adam shrugged, and he was annoyed to note that even just talking about it made the feeling come back back—tension pulled at his shoulders and neck _. _ He tried to relax. 

Blue huffed. “Well, do it.”

“Do what?”

“You said you hadn’t thought about it, so—think about it.”

“What? I can’t—”

“Just—close your eyes.” Adam kept his eyes fixed on hers. “Don’t give me that look, just do it.” 

Adam shut his eyes. Blue said, “Imagine, I don’t know. Oh, he takes you out in his stupid car, drives like a maniac up into the mountains. Miles of open road, stars in the sky. Very romantic.” 

Blue’s voice was low and soothing, and Adam could picture it clearly because it had happened before, exactly like that. He wondered if Blue knew that or if she was just incredibly good at guessing. He wondered if it was the way Blue’s voice wrapped playfully around each syllable or if it was the memory of the drive that had him feeling so suddenly out of sorts. 

Blue said, “You stop at a scenic overlook and he says—“ she affected a comically deep voice, a mimicry of Ronan. “‘Parrish,’ and you say ‘Lynch’ and you lock eyes. He looks, I don’t know. Less shitty than usual.” Adam snorted. He imagined the way Ronan looked in his car at night—powerful and in control and free. He imagined Ronan turning that look on him, like he sometimes did, and imagined seeing desire there, in the electric blue of his eyes. “He leans over the console real slow, like he’s going to kiss you. How do you feel?”

Like he was having a heart attack. Frustrated, he ripped his eyes open and spat,  _ “Tense.” _

Blue rolled her eyes. “Tense like nervous or tense like repulsed or—“

“I don’t know!” He spat, and then he took a breath. “Not  _ repulsed. _ I can’t do this with your voice in my ear, I don’t know if it’s him or if it’s  _ you  _ that makes me feel...”

“Let me guess. Tense?”

Adam looked up at the sprawling boughs of the beech tree and nodded, tight and contained, mouth sealed shut so he wouldn’t say anything else. 

“Okay. One? I can’t  _ believe _ you gave me such a hard time for asking if you were dating when  _ this  _ was what you needed advice on. Two? Your homework is to think real hard about smooching Ronan Lynch and get back to me when you come up with some other adjectives to describe feelings. I know you got that prep school English vocab, so it shouldn’t be too hard. 

You would think. He said, “I’ll try,” and then, “Thanks, Blue.”

“No sweat. Wanna come up to my room and hang out?”

He had homework, but it could wait. “Yeah, okay.”

When he got back to his apartment, he dutifully pulled out his homework even though his mind was chomping at the bit of a new problem to solve. It was always happy to think about Ronan, in any case, except for when he strayed too close to things he shouldn’t be thinking about. 

It might have been guilt—maybe that was what the tension was, deep down. Guilt for enjoying Ronan’s admiration, or preemptive guilt for hurting him, or theoretical guilt for stringing him along if Adam decided to try anything in reality. He wouldn’t, of course. Not unless he was sure. There was too much at stake. 

He sighed and put down his pencil and let his face rest in his hands and for the one blissful moment he gave himself permission to feel sorry for himself. 

How long would Ronan wait? How long would he continue to spend time with Adam when he didn’t reciprocate? How long would he give Adam the kind of attention that he so desperately craved when he got nothing out of it? How long before he gave it to someone else, instead, someone less broken, someone who could care for him in return. 

The idea of losing him made Adam nauseous. 

He took a deep breath in and out, and continued to work on a problem set for AP calc, letting the repetition and pure logic of it wash away his more emotional, more vulnerable, more embarrassing thoughts. 

But in the in-between, after he’d finished his calc homework and before he pulled out his notes to study for the AP gov quiz, his traitorous mind brought to him an image of Ronan’s wicked mouth, half turned up in a smirk. 

His hand was suddenly white knuckled around his pencil in a grip that made the wood creek, moments away from snapping. He loosened it very deliberately and breathed deeply through his nose and stretched out his neck. 

He read over his notes, once, twice, and made a few flashcards on spare scraps of paper, and when he thought that he had it all sufficiently memorized, he put everything neatly in a folder which he slipped into his messenger bag. 

Just as he was pulling out his assigned reading for English Lit, a short story which shouldn’t take him more than a few minutes, his mind gave him the ghost of heat and pressure on his lips—memories of kisses he’d had with girls whose faces he no longer quite remembered—half-formed thoughts about whether or not it would feel the same, with Ronan. 

His stomach pitched and rolled, not quite the nausea from before, but not unlike it. No, he thought, kissing Ronan would feel quite different. Adam was sure about that, if nothing else. 

He finished the assigned reading. By that time it was close to ten, an absolutely luxurious hour to go to sleep. But even after he brushed his teeth, flicked off the light, and collapsed onto his lumpy mattress, his mind was too tangled to manage it. He was frustrated and on edge and incredibly, incredibly  _ tense.  _

Adam let out a deep breath, and finally let himself think about it. He thought about Ronan’s face, the day before, the way he looked at Adam when he couldn’t help himself, when he thought Adam wasn’t paying attention. But Adam was always paying attention. He paid attention to the way he was sweet and kind and considerate when he thought he wouldn't get caught. He paid attention to his broad shoulders and his tattoo and his long, dark eyelashes. 

His imagination was lacking. There was no setting, not like the fantasy Blue narrated to him. He couldn’t get the details right, but he knew the general shape of him. 

In Adam’s mind, Ronan kissed him. 

Adam’s heart pounded behind his rib-cage. He held his breath. 

This was when he would usually bail out of the fantasy, too uncomfortable and sick with guilt to keep going. This time, he had homework, and if Blue asked him tomorrow, he wanted to have a different adjective for her than  _ tense.  _

So in his mind, he leaned into the kiss, opened his mouth, and took Ronan’s bottom lip between his. He imagined how it would feel—warm, soft, a little wet. Would Ronan make a noise of surprise, at being kissed back? Where would he put his hands? His face, maybe, his fingers gently brushing Adam’s jaw, or maybe his ribs—his waist. 

Adam’s stomach plummeted—a free-fall, like jumping into the water from high up or racing across a parking lot in a rickety shopping cart. 

He realized he had two fingers pressed to his lips and ripped his hand away, opened his eyes. He was breathing roughly, like he’d been kissed for real instead of just thinking about it. 

He felt lit up, he felt anticipatory, thrilled, needy, overflowing with liquid warmth from the tips of his fingers down to his toes. 

It was wanting, he realized. He  _ wanted.  _

Adam stared up at the dark rafters crossing his ceiling and said, “Shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronan shrugged and picked at the threads of the hole in the knee of his jeans. It was only a matter of time before Gansey figured it out. Or before Ronan caved and told him outright. Ronan realized, then, that he’d wanted Gansey to know, and that’s why he said it at all. 
> 
> Gansey said, “Why do you—oh. Do you? Oh.”
> 
> One glance told him Gansey had already cracked it, faster than Ronan would have predicted. Ronan said, “Yeah, oh.”
> 
> “You like him.”

“I cannot  _ believe  _ Jane kissed Noah!” Gansey said. 

Ronan watched him pace up and down mini-Henrietta’s main street, upside-down, with his feet kicked up on the back of the couch and his head dangling towards the floor. He mused, “Does it count as necrophilia if he’s a ghost?” 

Gansey ignored him and continued, “Next thing I know, you’ll tell me  _ you _ kissed her, too.”

“Fucking ew. That’s nasty, Dick. Don’t project your weird fantasies on me.”

“Nasty!” Gansey said, relieved and offended at once. “You should try treating Jane with some respect, she’s your friend after all.”

“I’m gay,” Ronan said, casual, like it wasn’t monumental, like he hadn’t been avoiding saying the words his whole life. 

Gansey stopped short. He managed to rein in his surprise to a slight raise of eyebrows, and almost didn’t sound  _ completely  _ unbearably awkward when he said, “Oh. Well, then. I didn’t mean to assume.” 

Ronan snorted. “Of course you  _ didn’t mean to assume. _ You’re just too obsessed with the maggot to even consider the fact that some of us might not have the hots for some fucking lawn gnome who staples together garbage and pretends it’s an outfit.” 

“You’re deflecting.”

Ronan rolled his eyes.  _ “You’re  _ deflecting.”

“Maybe so, but I have plenty of reason to do so, as you well know.” 

Ronan twisted himself so he was sitting upright on the couch. He felt his heart sink into the pit of his stomach. “Parrish.”

Gansey looked like he was in a similar state, with an added sprinkling of guilt on top. “Quite so.” 

He sighed and came to sit next to Ronan. He said, “Thank you for telling me.”

Ronan folded his arms across his chest. “Christ, don’t get sappy.” 

Gansey grinned, all dimples and perfect, white teeth. “You know what I think I will,” he said, and he wrapped his arms around Ronan’s shoulders, hugging him tight. 

Ronan kept his arms to himself and pretended to merely tolerate it, rather than do something drastic like hug Gansey back, or tell him how much he loved him. He leaned into the heat of him and said, “Ugh.”

It lasted only a bare few seconds, before Gansey was on his feet again, restless. He called for Chinese takeaway without asking Ronan what he wanted, because he didn’t need to, and then they both settled on the floor while Gansey began to paint a little cardboard wall. 

When he felt brave enough, or stupid enough, Ronan asked, “You think he still has feelings for her?”

Gansey looked up, confused for a moment. “Who? Adam?”

“Yes,  _ Adam.” _

“Well, yes. He hasn’t told me as much, but I would think so. Don’t you?”

Ronan shrugged and picked at the threads of the hole in the knee of his jeans. It was only a matter of time before Gansey figured it out. Or before Ronan caved and told him outright. Ronan realized, then, that he’d wanted Gansey to know, and that’s why he said it at all. 

Gansey said, “Why do you—oh. Do you? Oh.”

One glance told him Gansey had already cracked it, faster than Ronan would have predicted. Ronan said, “Yeah,  _ oh.” _

“You like him.”

Ronan’s heart was thudding in his chest, nervous and exposed. He said, “Sure, if you gotta be so fucking middle school about it.”

“Oh, Ronan.”

His face was too pitying, too understanding, and Ronan suddenly regretted bringing it up. He said, “Shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe I never realized.”

“Well I’m not exactly shouting it from the rooftops, Dick.”

“No, but you…”

Ronan frowned. He hated to think there was anything he could have said or done that would have given him away when he hadn’t meant for it to. He growled, “What.”

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time together, that’s all.” 

Ronan scoffed. “Yeah, no shit, he’s my friend.”

“It’s just, you didn’t used to.” Gansey started painting again, and cautiously said, “When did you start, um—”

“I don’t know.”

“More than six months, or less?” 

“More. Less. I don’t know, fucking both.” 

“Well that clears things up.”

“I couldn’t think about it before. But it was always… there.”

“Hmm,” Gansey said. “You do know pigtail-pulling is not actually the most effective method of wooing a potential partner, don’t you?”

“Ha ha.” Ronan chucked a piece of cardboard at him. “Asshole.”

They heard a knock on the door, and Gansey was still laughing at him when he went to go retrieve the food. 

A pile of cartons was spread between them, all of them open and ready to eat. Gansey shoveled some lo mein in his mouth, chewed through it, and said, “Do you think he might—that is to say, do you think Adam—?”

“No,” Ronan cut him off through a mouthful of crab rangoon. He didn’t want to hear him say something fucking stupid like,  _ do you think Adam might like you back? _

“Not even—?”

“No. You just said, like, five minutes ago, that you think he’s still in love with  _ Sargent.” _

“I suppose I did,” Gansey said, rueful. 

Ronan swallowed, and looked up into the rafters of Monmouth, where Chainsaw was making a racket. “He knows.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gansey’s mouth drop open in shock, which would have been hilarious if the content of the conversation wasn’t making Ronan feel too on edge to really appreciate it. Gansey said, “You  _ told him?” _

“Fuck no.”

“Then how would you have any idea what he does or does not know? You can be—difficult to read, and that’s putting it mildly.”

“I’ve let him know. He’s not stupid, Gansey.”

“Well, of course not.”

Chainsaw came down to perch on Ronan’s shoulder. He reached out a finger to brush against her beak and the feathers around her neck. He said, “I gave him things. Dream things.”

“Like what?”

“Lotion.”

Gansey’s brow furrowed. He said,  _ “Lotion?” _

Ronan sighed, aggrieved at having to explain himself. “For his hands. I dreamt him some lotion, so they wouldn’t crack in the cold.” 

“That’s—that’s very thoughtful, Ronan. But—”

“And a cassette tape. For his car.” 

Gansey mulled this over for a moment. “If it’s just Murder Squash 12 times in a row, I really don’t think that’s a sufficient gesture.”

“It is not,” Ronan said, defensive. “It’s a bunch of stuff… I only put Murder Squash on it once.”

“Oh.”

“Would you stop saying  _ oh.” _

“I’m just surprised. I’ll admit, that’s actually a rather obvious signal.” 

“Yeah, so. Ball’s in his court. If he hasn’t done anything yet, he’s not fucking going to. Which is fine, it’s fine. I don’t need—I don’t…” 

Gansey got to his feet and for one horrifying moment, Ronan was afraid he’d envelop him in his arms again, and he didn’t think he was going to be able to stand it. But Gansey just rested his hand on Ronan’s shoulder and said, “I’ll get us a couple of beers.”

As Gansey started walking to the bathroom/kitchen/laundry, Ronan said, “Whiskey.”

And that’s how Ronan knew how bad off he was. Because Gansey agreed without further pushing, without so much as a cursory lecture about how it was a school night. He just said, “Whiskey it is.”

Both of them had their backs to the cold concrete floor, splayed out and loose, stomachs full of Chinese food and four fingers of whiskey swimming in their blood.

“Admittedly,” Gansey said, over-enunciated like he was trying very hard not to let his words slur together, “It’s not something I had considered, before, you and Adam. But it’s—it makes sense, in a strange sort of way. I think you’d be good together. Certainly… volatile. But good, I think.”

Ronan swallowed, thickly. He poured whiskey into his mouth without tilting his head up and felt it burn his eyes and his throat when he tried to swallow it. He said, “Fuckin’ doubt it.” 

Ronan had thought the same, in weaker moments—how good they could be. But he knew himself better than to think he had anything of worth to offer Adam Parrish.

Carefully Gansey began, “Ronan…”

When he’d paused for too long, Ronan said, “Spit it out, Gansey.” 

“Well, that is, I could always… inquire—”

“No.” Ronan pushed himself up just enough to flick Gansey in the forehead. “Fuck no.”

Gansey batted his hand away. “I would never be so gauche as to _ tell _ him anything, of course—”

“Yeah, still no. You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, Dick.” 

Gansey pouted and clumsily placed his glass on the floor beside him. “You don't _know_ that he knows. And you don't know how he feels. I just think that… that it’s not nearly as hopeless as you seem to think it is, from where I’m sitting.”

“And why’s that?” Ronan scoffed, letting his head roll back onto the floor. 

“He’s… hm. How do I put this? He pays attention to you. Certainly as much as you pay to him, and now that I know about you, well… it’s not difficult to put two and two together.”

But Adam paid attention to everything. Ronan wasn’t special. “Think I’m gonna need more compelling evidence than that, Gansey, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.” 

“He was jealous of you and Kavinsky, I think.”

Ronan’s head snapped to the side to look at him and his head swam with the effort. He said, “What?”

“He was always bringing him up, always telling me to step in, saying he was a bad influence, and so forth. And, you know I never liked Kavinsky, I thought he was beneath you, but I wasn’t--I didn’t  _ hate _ him. Adam hated him. And he could be quite vicious about it. I didn’t understand why, really. They hadn’t even interacted much, as far as I could tell. And I was just thinking, it would make sense if he was jealous. If he thought—that you and Kavinsky, well…”

Ronan felt caught. He hated that whatever he’d had with K had been obvious enough for even Gansey to clock it. He stammered, “We weren’t. We didn’t.”

“Alright.”

“I can’t imagine Parrish getting jealous over something like that.”

“Why not?”

“Kavinsky was—he was nothing.”

Gansey pushed himself unsteadily up into a sitting position. He took a contemplative swig of whiskey and said over the rim, “He was nothing to me, but not to you.” 

Ronan sat up, too, braced his hands behind his back to hold him up and said, “But I hated him. He was a fucking piece of shit. I would have smashed his face in as soon as kiss him. Why would Parrish care about that, even if he—? Even if...” 

“I don’t know, Ronan. I’m just sharing my observations.”

“Well, by all means, share away, if you’re so fucking observant all of a sudden.”

“He also… I don’t know how to bring this up delicately, but I know you sleep at St. Agnes sometimes. In Adam’s apartment. 

“Yeah. I also sleep in  _ your _ apartment, sometimes.”

“You  _ live  _ here.”

“Fine. I sleep on his floor. So what?”

“So, he lets you. He wouldn’t do that for just anyone.” 

“He would for you.”

Gansey’s face pinched with sadness, an expression he would normally have hidden better, but maybe he couldn’t manage it through all the whiskey. “I’m not quite sure that’s true. You know how he is. He would be embarrassed to have me there at all, and he certainly wouldn't want me to spend the night. He’s comfortable with you, in a way he isn’t with me.”

“He would let Blue stay,” Ronan pushed. “At least, he  _ would have.” _

Gansey pointed at Ronan, the way he did when Adam said something he approved of. He said, “Exactly.” 

Ronan snarled, “Fuck you.”

Gansey didn’t even have the decency to look surprised by the outburst. He said, “What for?”

Ronan half wanted to get up and slam his way into his bedroom, but he felt heavy and sluggish, rooted to the spot. He said, “For trying to get my damn hopes up.” 

Gansey put a warm, solid hand on his arm. “Look. I’m just speculating, of course, but I do think there’s reason to have a little hope. In any case, he cares about you a great deal. You know that, right?”

Ronan's eyes were turned resolutely away from him, ignoring the rolling in his stomach and the stutter in his heart. He couldn’t look at whatever earnestness was on Gansey’s face. He shrugged and dislodged Gansey’s hand. 

Suddenly, Gansey said, “Out of curiosity, what did Adam do with the gifts you gave him?”

Ronan emptied his glass. “He uses the lotion, I think.” His hands didn’t look so shitty, anymore, and he’s seen it in various places around Adam’s apartment. “I don’t know what he did with the tape. It’s probably still in the Shitbox. I don’t even know if he listened to it.” 

“I’m sure he did. If nothing else, he has a curious mind.” 

“I don’t know if he’s curious enough to fast-forward through three tracks worth of Muder Squash just to find out if there’s actually another song on there.” 

“Ronan, you didn’t,” Gansey scolded, and Ronan laughed. “That is a terrible romantic gesture.” 

Grinning, Ronan said, “He probably threw it out the fucking window halfway through the second track.”

Gansey’s eyes opened wide just then, as if he saw something on Ronan’s face, and it made him say, “Oh wow.”

Ronan dropped the grin. “What.”

“I know you told me you liked him—”

“Technically  _ you  _ told me _ I  _ liked him—”

“—But, wow,” Gansey breathed, awed. “You really do, don’t you?” 

Ronan’s jaw tightened. He resisted the urge to hide his face. “Yeah,” he said, defiant.

“Sorry. It’s just that I’ve never seen you so... smitten. And with someone as wonderful as Adam. It’s just nice, that’s all.”

“Yeah it’s real fuckin’ nice.”

Gansey smiled. “And to think you were  _ so _ upset when I brought him into the group.”

Ronan rolled his eyes and slumped back to the floor, stretching enough to nudge some cardboard buildings out of place. “Is this where I’m supposed to compliment you on your impeccable taste, Dick?”

“It certainly couldn’t hurt.

“Beg to differ.”

Gansey sprawled back out beside him and said, “Who knows, maybe Jane will grow on you, too, one day.”

Ronan didn’t point out that she already had, like a tiny, annoying fungus. He said, “Don’t hold your breath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know book Gansey thought Adam was going to hurt Ronan ultimately, and i struggled with what i thought would be in character in this scenario but...................... this is fanfic baby i do what i want lmao


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam’s brain didn’t switch tracks quickly enough to catch Gansey before he turned on the stereo and a song began to play. 
> 
> It was from Parrish’s Hondayota Alone Time, the only tape that Adam owned, but so well-loved that he was reasonably certain it would be in his tape deck even if he had a hundred more. Adam’s heart kicked up in time with the music, even though he knew Gansey would have no idea what it was—what it meant. 
> 
> It played unassumingly in the background of their conversation for a couple of minutes, but eventually Gansey gestured to the haunting, bittersweet melody that dripped from the speakers. “What is this?” he asked. “It’s lovely.”

While getting ready for school the following morning, Adam reviewed his findings. 

In the harsh light of day, doubt crept in. Did he want to kiss Ronan or did he only think he did? His imagination, after all, wasn’t reality. Not even close—It was vague, and idealized, only impressions rather than anything concrete. How would that translate to the real world? 

Adam wouldn’t see Blue until after school, so he hadn’t received any further advice or homework, but he could see what the next step was. The next step was to follow the trail and find out where it led. 

He would have to re-conduct the experiment in different conditions. He needed to see Ronan.

But Ronan wasn’t at school. 

Of course he wasn’t—he hardly ever was these days. Adam did not allow himself to dwell on it, not when he had to earn his place at Aglionby just as he always did. He wouldn’t let Ronan Lynch get in the way of that. So for a few hours he threw all of his focus into school. 

By the time Latin rolled around, he had foolishly let his guard down, so when he looked up from his homework to see Ronan stalk into the classroom, Adam lit up instantly with nerves, adrenaline, _wanting_. 

Ronan fist-bumped Gansey and rapped his knuckles on Adam’s desk before taking the one next to him. He looked pent up, already, and Adam wondered why he even bothered to show. A thought floated through Adam’s mind, that maybe the reason was _him,_ but he dismissed it. It was terribly conceited to believe Ronan would do something he hated just to see Adam. 

Gansey was a touch more snippy than usual as said, “So nice of you to show up, Lynch.” He looked a little worse for wear in a way that was difficult for Adam to pinpoint. Nothing was out of place, and it was.

“Jesus fuck, Gansey, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes, the first class you’ve attended all day.”

“I can go if you’re just gonna be a pain in my ass.”

Adam said, “But if you go, who’s going to harass the sub with dirty Latin jokes?”

Ronan grinned like lightning striking the earth. It burned all the way through him.

Gansey said, “Don’t encourage him.”

When class began, Adam noticed very abruptly how distracting Ronan was. Had always been, maybe. Was this why Adam was often frustrated with him, especially here, especially when he was trying to do work? Had he misinterpreted this itch under his skin as annoyance or resentment, when really it was just that, even though Ronan was just sitting there, twirling a pen between his fingers and looking bored out of his mind, Adam couldn’t quite manage to ignore him. 

And now that he noticed this, his eyes were drawn, with alarming frequency, to the careless sprawl of Ronan’s long legs. To the way he doodled stupid drawings all over his notebook instead of taking notes. To the way his tie was loose and his shirt unbuttoned enough to show the base of his throat and the hooks of his tattoo. To the way he chewed on his pen for something to do with his mouth. 

Adam’s notes were probably only marginally more helpful. He would have to study harder to make up for this loss of time. Maybe this was why he was only second best in Latin class and not first. 

And then, because Adam’s luck could only stretch so far, eventually Ronan caught him looking. The irony wasn’t lost on him—the reversal of their usual dynamic. Ronan raised one eyebrow, questioning with a hint of judgment. Adam had no answer for him, and he was supposed to be learning, not staring at Ronan Lynch, so he turned to face the blackboard and redoubled his efforts to take more comprehensive notes. 

But he could feel Ronan’s eyes, then, worse than ever, and Adam’s face felt so warm he was sure Ronan could see the flush of it on his skin. 

Adam gave in to temptation only once more. He looked back for a bare second before Ronan’s eyes flicked away, but in that second Adam felt every confused, panicky, tension-ridden ounce of the wanting he uncovered last night, made infinitely worse by Ronan’s presence.

After the bell rang, when Gansey dawdled with Henry by the classroom door, Ronan followed Adam. He leaned his back against the locker neighboring Adam’s, arms crossed as he waited for him to collect his things. At some point he shut his eyes and let his head fall back against metal with a dull clank. Adam shut his locker softly and looked at him. 

It was clear that Ronan was tired, that something was off, but he was exactly as striking as he always was, and he was close enough that Adam could smell the scent of whatever body wash or deodorant or cologne he used. It was fresh, like rainwater and trees. And Adam wondered, again, do I want him to kiss me? 

He pictured Ronan leaning his forearm against the locker, opening his eyes, blue as glacier ice, pinning Adam in place with nothing but his unbearable proximity, looking like some bad boy heartthrob out of some cheesy movie. Adam’s stomach was a riot of movement— _butterflies,_ he thought, dazed. 

He _did_ want Ronan to kiss him. He wanted it very, very badly, and he would do it right here, in front of the whole damn school, if that was what Ronan wanted. 

It was a terrifying thing to realize. 

He said, “What’s with you and Gansey today? You look like shit.”

Ronan smiled a venomous smile and without opening his eyes said, “He’s hungover, probably. Not me, though, I’m a seasoned professional.”

Adam said, “Oh, so you just look like shit naturally.”

Ronan let out a sharp bark of laughter, sparked to life suddenly, like he’d just been waiting for the right moment to strike. He said, “Asshole,” and rammed his shoulder into Adam’s, enough to set him off balance, before he stalked down the hallway. 

Adam could feel himself smiling as he followed, and for the rest of the day he was plagued by thoughts of him. It was like a dam breaking—suddenly it was all he could think about, all he wanted to think about. 

It was funny, all this time he couldn’t picture Ronan with someone, anyone, especially Adam, doing things as easy and affectionate as holding their hand, but now he could.

And he found himself wondering, If it excited him to think of kissing Ronan, how would he feel if they held hands, if they hugged, if they went further. More dangerously, if they were actually in a relationship. 

Adam felt panic rise up in his throat. One step at a time. 

The BMW was already peeling out of the Aglionby parking lot when Adam and Gansey made it out of the building—on its way to Nino’s, or else causing trouble on the way there. 

The Pig wouldn’t start, so Gansey and Adam stood under the open hood, gazing into the bowels of it, before Adam saw what the problem was. He asked Gansey, “What do you think it is?” just to see if he could figure it out on his own. 

After a few moments, Gansey lit up with recognition, and said, “The alternator.”

Adam smiled and pat Gansey on the back. “Got it in one.” 

Gansey smiled back, delighted with himself, and then he called Ronan, who answered only after the third time it had gone to voicemail. “Ronan,” Gansey said, “Go to Boyd’s and pick me up an alternator belt would you? We’ll meet you at Nino’s.”

Adam couldn’t hear the voice on the other end of the call, but he could hear how it started off shouty and clipped and then grew softer. He assumed it said a ruder version of, “Do you want me to come get you?” because Gansey smiled serenely and said, “No, Parrish will give me a lift. I can fix this after we eat. I’m starving.”

Adam felt pride swell in his chest, and also a vague, directionless sort of dread. 

Although it wasn’t the first time Adam had Gansey in the Hondayota, that fact didn’t do anything to take away the sting of seeing Richard Campbell Gansey III in all his shining glory in the passenger’s seat of Adam’s borderline decrepit car. The Shitbox was so clearly not a place meant for someone like him. It was hard for him to think about anything else, so Adam’s brain didn’t switch tracks quickly enough to catch Gansey before he turned on the stereo and a song began to play. 

It was from Parrish’s Hondayota Alone Time, the only tape that Adam owned, but so well-loved that he was reasonably certain it would be in his tape deck even if he had a hundred more. Adam’s heart kicked up in time with the music, even though he knew Gansey would have no idea what it was—what it meant. 

It played unassumingly in the background of their conversation for a couple of minutes, but eventually Gansey gestured to the haunting, bittersweet melody that dripped from the speakers. “What is this?” he asked. “It’s lovely.”

“Um,” Adam said, knowing he had no answer. Ronan hadn’t done anything as helpful as give him the track list. He considered making something up, anything, a band or a singer’s name, but he didn’t. He said, “I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure?” 

Adam didn’t respond. He gripped the steering wheel in one hand and the stick shift in the other and stared out the windshield.

Gansey said, “Huh.” He flipped over the tape to inspect the label on the other side. “Did Ronan give you this?” 

Adam flicked on his turn signal and carefully switched lanes. His heartbeat was loud in his ears. He said, “Yes.” 

“I see,” Gansey said. Adam couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the pleased note in his voice. “I’ll just ask him, then.” 

“Sure,” Adam forced out. He wanted to ask Gansey not to. The thought of Ronan knowing he actually listened to his stupid mixtape was irrationally embarrassing, though he had no way of justifying that to Gansey. “He’d know better than I would.” 

“Is it all so… nice? Ronan generally takes his music more in the vicinity of eardrum-shattering.” 

Adam sighed. “He put the murder squash song on there _four times.”_

_“Four?”_ Gansey laughed.

“But other than that, yeah, it’s… nice.” 

Adam hoped nothing in his face gave anything else away. That Gansey wouldn’t be able to tell that Adam thought it was so much more than nice. That he listened to it every time he was in the car. That sometimes, if he was feeling particularly lonesome, he would creep out of his apartment in the middle of the night, just to listen to one or two songs, idling in the parking lot, heedless of the waste of gas it took to do it. 

But Gansey must have seen something, because he said, “Do you listen to it a lot?”

Adam shrugged. Responses floated through his mind. _Once or twice,_ he could say. 

_Some._

_I guess._

He said, “Yes.”

Then he could have said, _it’s the only one I have._

Or, _I don’t like the radio._

But he didn’t say anything more, and neither did Gansey, not until Adam parked the car at Nino’s and they went inside and took their usual booth. 

When Ronan got to Nino’s, he came in just long enough to kick at Gansey’s shoes with his hands in his jacket pockets until Gansey followed him outside to take the alternator belt. 

Adam was alone for barely a second before Blue approached the table, furtively glanced around to see if she was gonna get caught slacking off on the job, and dropped into the seat across from him. 

She didn’t even try to dance around it. “So? Have you thought about it?”

Adam nodded. 

“So?” she said, again.

“Well…”

“Come _on,_ Adam, spit it out, I’m dying to know. How does the thought of kissing Ronan Lynch make you feel?”

“Nervous,” Adam said, the easiest one. And then, after a breath, “Excited.”

Blue’s eyes lit up, “Excited?”

“I want to—” The words got stuck in his throat. How was he supposed to say what he was really thinking? _I want to kiss him so bad I think I'm going crazy. I’ve been thinking about it all day—an endless loop of Ronan’s mouth and Ronan’s arms and Ronan’s stupid tattoo._ He settled for, “I want to kiss him.” 

Apparently that was enough. Blue whooped, loud enough to draw the eye of some of the other patrons, and Adam said, _“Shh,_ Jesus, Blue, what are you doing?”

She was grinning as she said, “Sorry! Sorry, I’m just, wow, that’s great, Adam, isn’t that great?”

“I guess. It’s mostly terrifying.”

_“Terrifying?_ Why?”

Because he felt uncontrolled—he couldn’t hold it back anymore, and it spread over everything, sudden and overwhelming like a flash flood. He didn’t know how to explain that without sounding like a control freak, or without revealing how big it felt. 

He said, “I still don’t know… I don’t know what to do. It doesn’t change anything.”

“Why not?”

“Wanting to kiss him isn’t enough, I need to be sure. I need to know if I want… everything. Because if he does like me, I can’t be playing around. I can’t just kiss him and decide I can’t handle the rest.”

She put one foot up on the bench seat so her bent knee poked out above the table and she rested her arm on it. “Okay. That makes sense.”

Adam breathed a sigh of relief that she wasn’t going to urge him to move anyway. “I need more time.” He dried the sweat off the palms of his hands on his jeans. “I can’t ruin this. First, I need to figure out if it’s just… physical.”

Blue’s face scrunched with doubt. “It’s not just physical.”

Adam huffed. “How would you know?”

“You’re friends! You already like him!” She gestured at him in aggravation, her arms and head jingling with all the things adorning them. “God, why are you making this so complicated? What would the difference be, really, if you were dating him?” 

Adam did not remotely have the experience to tell him that. “I don’t know, Blue. What would the difference be?”

“I mean I can’t really picture Ronan doing traditional romance. So not much, probably. Aside from the physical, of course, which we’ve already established you’re interested in. Oh, actually, _is_ that something you’re concerned about?”

“What?”

“Well you said you wanted to kiss him, but what about sex?

Adam choked, “Blue!”

“Oh, come on, try and be mature about this.” 

Adam didn’t think maturity had anything to do with his lack of desire to talk about sex with his ex girlfriend, though perhaps it had been foolish to think it wouldn’t come up. 

But he hadn’t yet given proper thought to having sex with Ronan, for the same reason he’d avoided thinking about kissing him for so long. Adam had the distinct feeling it wasn’t going to be a problem, though. He could feel the immense swell of want inside him, just from the idea of it, just from the words sex and Ronan being used in the same conversation. 

He swallowed it down, and cleared his throat. “I’m… not talking about this with you. But yes, I want to—” Adam leaned in, elbows on the table to get closer to her, and lowered his voice to say, “I’m bi. I already know that, it’s not a concern.”

“Cool. Me too.” Blue was smiling, and she held out a fist covered in chunky, mismatched rings so that Adam could knock his own against it. 

Adam’s heart did something complicated. It wasn’t like the feeling he’d once gotten from touching her, what felt like eons ago, but something like belonging. 

Adam barely caught sight of a dark blur moving in the corner of his vision before Ronan crashed into him and wrapped an arm possessively around his shoulders. There was a fight in his eyes, aimed at Blue. He said, “What’re you two chucklefucks talking about?” like he knew he was butting in. 

_Jealous,_ his mind supplied. Ronan was jealous, of course he was. And it was abruptly hilarious that _Ronan_ was who they’d been talking about, _Ronan_ was the one on Adam’s mind, and he was jealous? Adam laughed, and if he leaned into the heat of Ronan’s arm, that was his business. He said, “Nothin’ to concern yourself with.”

“I wasn’t actually concerned a second ago, but I sure as fuck am now.”

Adam smiled. Ronan snatched his arm away just as Gansey got to the table and sat down across from them. He flashed Ronan a fond, private look, and placed his journal on the table with a flourish. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

Blue said, “I have to get back to work.” She poked Gansey’s arm to get him to move out of her way. 

He got up again to let her out of the booth, and with a pout, said, “You’re not on break?”

“No, I just got here. Adam was distracting me.”

Gansey said, “I see,” and he looked at Adam, his expression polished and pleasant and perfectly friendly. He was hiding something. 

Adam rolled his eyes and Blue smacked Gansey in the shoulder and said, “Do not start without me.” 

It was only a matter of time before the fantasies escalated, but Adam was a little surprised with how quickly things spiraled into his more vulgar, baser needs. 

He thought about kissing Ronan late that night, in bed, exhausted after a long shift at Boyd’s. He hadn’t even turned the light out, or put away his homework, before he found himself lying back, closing his eyes, and picturing Ronan Lynch. 

Ronan at the Barns, full of warmth and light, easy with affection, or his version of it, pressing him into the side of a barn and kissing him senseless, the heat of summer in his hands. 

Ronan in his car—bass pulsing through the floor, face hidden in shadow and highlighted blue with dashboard light, recklessness and desperation in every kiss, laying him down in the backseat. 

Ronan knocking at his door. There’s a thunderstorm pounding at the roof, so loud he can barely hear the sound. But he does, and he opens the door to find Ronan on the other side, soaked to his skin, his t-shirt clinging to every muscle and bone. He grins, predatory, and says, “Can I come in?” like he’s some sort of goddamn vampire. 

Beads of rain glide down his face and arms, reverent, stroking his skin the way Adam wants to so bad he can taste it. Adam steps back to let him in. Ronan takes off his shirt, and Adam gets to see the way his tattoo and his back glisten in the light. He unbuttons his pants and Adam says, “What are you doing?” 

He looks back at Adam and says, “I’m fucking soaked, Parrish.” and he eases his jeans off his wet legs. 

If this were real life, this was where Ronan would probably fall over, clumsy. The Adam that was in bed laughed. He realized he had one hand low on his stomach, the tips of his fingers easing just past his waistband. He gasped in a breath. 

Ronan turns to him in his fantasy, mostly-naked, boyish and beautiful, and steps towards him. “You got anything I can borrow?” he says, and he’s close, because Adam’s apartment is small and Ronan’s presence is big enough that he takes up every inch of it. He’s teasing at the waistband of his boxer briefs like he’s thinking about taking them off rather than wait for Adam to get him something else to wear. 

Adam sighed. His hand was too dry, and he wanted something to make the slide easier, but he didn’t have anything like that. Unless—

He glanced at the jar of lotion Ronan had given him, and fought an internal battle with himself for several seconds before he stretched an arm over to his makeshift nightstand to grab it. He stuck two fingers in and drank in the scent of moss and mist, and he took a moment to be a little disgusted with himself for defiling it, using something so precious for something like this. 

Until now, he’d been doing his best to make it last, because he wouldn’t ask Ronan for another. 

But now, Adam coated the palm of his hand with it, and reached—

There was a knock on the door—three hard thumps. Adam heard it perfectly well over the rain. 

He snatched his hand out from his sweatpants and Ronan, from the other side of the door, shouted “Parrish, you up?”

Adam choked on his voice. He quickly rubbed the lotion into his hands and said, “Yeah. Just a sec.” 

He was having a heart attack. This couldn’t be happening. 

The shock meant he wasn’t completely hard anymore, but he wasn’t completely soft, either, so he threw on a big, cozy sweatshirt and hoped it hid him enough. 

He answered the door, a little out of breath. 

Ronan was on the other side of it, soaked to his skin. He looked a great deal more like a sad, wet cat than he had in Adam’s fantasy, and a laugh bubbled out of him, involuntary, utterly hysterical. 

“Shut the fuck up and let me in, asshole.” 

Adam stepped back and continued to laugh as Ronan dragged himself inside. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. He said, “What are you doing? You ever heard of an umbrella?” 

As if in protest to his mistreatment, Ronan dropped his soaked-through jean jacket to the floor, leaving it to make puddles on the hardwood. Adam could hardly bring himself to care, because suddenly his fantasy didn’t seem like such an exaggeration, after all. Without the jacket, the shirt and jeans that clung wetly to Ronan’s body were a thousand times more appealing than they had any right to be.

Adam’s mouth went dry. 

Ronan said, “I don’t keep one in my car, I didn’t get rained on on fucking purpose.” He wrung his shirt out onto Adam’s floor, and _there,_ now Adam felt the customary level of annoyance, even though the move had given him a very nice view of Ronan’s stomach. 

On unsteady legs, Adam went to the bathroom to get a towel. Ronan snatched it out of his hand as soon as he came back and rubbed it over his face and head. Adam said, “Do you want…” Ronan looked at him and it took Adam a moment to un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and continue, “Something to wear?”

“No,” Ronan said, “I want to catch hypothermia in your shitty, freezing apartment.” 

Adam rolled his eyes and brushed past him to get to his closet. He handed Ronan a worn pair of sweatpants and one of his larger t-shirts, and Ronan took them both to the bathroom to change. 

“A thank you would be nice,” he said, belatedly. He knew Ronan heard him—the walls were thin—but he didn’t answer. 

Adam busied himself putting all his homework neatly away, and throwing a blanket and pillow on the floor for Ronan, and not thinking about the Ronan from his daydreams, who stripped off right in front of him—who would have let him lick raindrops off his chest. 

Ronan emerged dressed in a threadbare t-shirt and a ratty pair of sweatpants. There was no reason why he should look so good in them. He only filled them out a little more than Adam did, himself, and there was nothing obviously sexy about it, but it didn’t seem to matter. Adam liked it. He tried not to look. 

He said, “I was gonna sleep.”

“I’m not stopping you.” Ronan said, and he dug his headphones out of his jacket pocket. 

Adam wasn’t sure he’d be able to fall asleep, but he wanted to be able to at least cover himself, and have the cloak of darkness to keep Ronan from seeing anything he shouldn’t. So he turned off the light and lied down. 

His back hit something hard and uncomfortable. He dug it out from underneath him, and—oh—it was the lotion. A flash of heat burst under Adam’s skin, his cheeks and his ears and the back of his neck were flushed with it. He tried to look casual about placing the lotion on his nightstand, but Ronan tracked the movement, watchful as he lay across the floor.

He was only a couple feet away—near enough for Adam to touch, if he reached out. 

It had always been like this—this intimate, private ritual. 

Ronan put his headphones on, and Adam was surprised, for a moment, that they still worked, as waterlogged as they must have been, before he realized that they probably were made of dreams, and not bluetooth technology. 

Adam ripped off his sweatshirt, closed his eyes, rolled onto his stomach. It was the sweetest torture, the feeling of his cock pressing into the mattress, knowing Ronan was so, so close, knowing he couldn’t so much as think about it without making this more embarrassing than it was already. 

But eventually—eventually, he relaxed, and having Ronan in his space was as shockingly easy as it had always been. The music was furious, and loud enough that Adam could hear it, but quiet enough that he could fall asleep to the sound of Ronan’s furious heart and his slow, easy breaths. 


	4. Chapter 4

Ronan couldn’t get Gansey’s stupid ideas out of his head, no matter what he did. He tried going to the Barns, seeking distraction or destruction. But despite himself, he was dressed for school and on time for Latin, just to see if he could catch glimpses of hope in the way Adam looked at him. 

Hope was a dangerous thing, but Ronan had always liked danger, and there was no sweeter form of it than this. 

He found himself wondering, had Adam always looked at him so frequently? Had he always blushed so prettily when he got caught at it? 

Ronan lounged on the hood of the BMW in the Aglionby parking lot, listening to Gansey attempt to fix the Pig on his own, without Adam’s supervision. He replayed every moment with Adam in his mind until every interaction lost objective meaning and all he felt was frustration.

He sighed, viciously, and Gansey said, “Ronan…”

“What.” 

“Do you recall how we discussed what Adam had done with your gifts?” 

Ronan turned his eyes to him, but Gansey was under the hood, still, determinedly focused on the inner workings of the Pig. With some trepidation, Ronan said, “Yeah…”

“Well, I happened upon some relevant information today, and—”

Ronan hissed, “I swear to God Gansey, if you told him—”

Gansey stood up straight and shut the hood, apparently finished with whatever the fuck he was doing. “I didn’t tell him anything.”

Ronan sat up and narrowed his eyes. “What did you do, exactly.”

“You don’t have to give me that look, I’m aware you asked me not to, but all I did was make certain inquiries, and I thought my findings might be of interest to you.” As he used a rag to wipe grease from his hands, and very casually Gansey said, “For instance, I found out that he does indeed listen to your tape.”

Ronan kept himself carefully still. “How the fuck would you know that?”

“For once, the Pig breaking down was a rather fortuitous turn of events. I was able to ask for a ride from Adam, and well, I just had a feeling, so I turned on the music, et voilà.”

 _“Et voilà,”_ Ronan mocked, his heartbeat wild with possibility. 

Gansey said, “Of course I wasn’t sure, at first, if it was _your_ tape, but it very much was. I saw it—Parrish’s Hondayota Alone Time: A Shitbox Sing Along. The title could use some work, I think.”

Ronan breathed, “Fuck.”

“He said he listens to it often.”

_“Fuck.”_

“It was very pretty, by the way. How come you always make me listen to your horrible EDM?” 

“Because you suck and I fucking hate you, that’s why.”

“Ah ha.”

“Stop looking so fucking proud of yourself.”

But he didn’t, he just kept smiling his smug, golden Gansey smile, tossed his keys up in the air, caught them and said, “I’ll see you back at Monmouth.”

*

In Ronan’s dream, it was spring. It was early enough in the season that the branches were mostly bare, just beginning to sprout tiny leaves. The moss dotting the forest floor was an impossible shade of green in the misty, gray morning. The air was cool in his lungs, and when he breathed out, a billowing cloud curled up around him. 

He wasn’t alone—Adam was there, which meant it was either a very good dream or a very bad one—time would tell. Sometimes, in his dreams, Adam was cruel. Sometimes, he was dead. Others, he was accommodating. 

Most of the time, though, he was disinterested. 

Ronan tried to drown out the sound of his fear with the memory of Adam’s laughter and the way his eyes kept finding him today, again and again. He hoped that it would bring out an Adam who was more like the real one—the one who allowed him to sleep with barely three feet of space between them and listened to his music even when he didn’t have to. 

When dream Adam saw him, his mouth turned up in a smile, and Ronan was struck in place by the sight of it. Adam’s warm tones seemed hyper-saturated on this muted backdrop, dialed up, all bronze and gold and dusty pink. 

Adam said, “Hey.”

And Ronan said, “Hey.”

Ronan was good at forgeries—he’d learned from the best—but there was something about this Adam that was realer, and more complete than usual. There was complexity behind his shrewd eyes, contradictions in every line of his body, in a way he could never manage to capture with any degree of accuracy. 

This was a good dream. 

He sat beside Adam on a big, mossy rock, even though it made his butt wet. Hesitantly, he let their shoulders and arms touch, trying to get a read on how lenient with him this Adam was willing to be. 

Adam leaned into the touch, pressing more firmly and Ronan breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Figures,” Adam said. 

“What figures?”

“You’re everywhere.”

Ronan looked over at him, sidelong. The Adam in his dreams was usually a cryptic bastard, but he wished, for once, that they could be straight with each other. In a manner of speaking. He said, “The fuck does that mean?” 

“Can’t seem to get away from you.”

“Christ,” Ronan said, standing up. So much for a good dream. He pointed into the woods. “If you wanna get away so bad, door’s that way, asshole.” 

Adam looked exhausted by him but he stayed put. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, then?”

Adam sighed. He stood up, and brushed invisible dirt from his sweatpants. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s just. It’s… overwhelming.” 

“Overwhelming,” Ronan said, carefully. 

“Yeah.” Adam’s eyes narrowed. “If you’re not there physically, you’re in my head. In this case, both. So yeah, it’s a little overwhelming.” 

Ronan stood there in silence until he realized he wasn’t breathing and he gasped in a clumsy lungful of air. He said, “Didn’t know you thought about me that much, Parrish, I’m flattered.”

Adam rolled his eyes and started walking towards the sound of running water. They followed the stream for a bit and Adam said, “You know, I always wonder… do you dream about me?” 

Ronan’s heart lurched in his chest, and he spat, “What kind of fucking question is that.”

Adam turned back to him with a glowing, amused smile on his face, his eyes warm in a way they never were in real life. He said, “A yes or no one.”

Ronan sneered. “Tch. You already know the answer, as usual.”

Adam hung back to fall into step with Ronan. He said, contemplative, “I don’t know. I’d like to think I do.”

Ronan shoved him with his shoulder. “Yes, you self-absorbed piece of shit. I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”

“Yeah?” Adam said. He took a skipping step so he was walking backwards just in front of Ronan, grinning a devastating, lopsided grin. Ronan wanted, so badly, to see Adam like this outside of a dream. “Well don’t worry,” he said. “I’ve dreamed about you, too, obviously.”

The idea of it raced through Ronan like an uncontrollable brush fire. He choked out, “Oh, obviously.” 

Adam laughed and stepped back to his side to press his shoulder into Ronan's as they walked. 

“Jesus,” Ronan said, turning his head away. “You're different today.” 

“Different?”

“In my dreams you’re usually not this nice. It’s a little suspicious.”

Adam stopped in his tracks and said, “Yeah, well, this is _my_ dream. What do you mean I’m not nice?”

Ronan froze in place. Cold dread curled in his belly. He turned around and said, “No, this is _my_ dream.” 

Adam’s brow was furrowed. He took a careful, measured breath, and then his head tilted to the side and he said, “Is it? Am I in your dream?”

Ronan stepped closer to him, to study his face. _Fuck,_ he thought. He should have realized it sooner, should have put the pieces together. He was furious with himself. 

He looked into this dream Adam’s eyes and saw the real Adam behind them, after all. 

He whispered, “Adam?”

“I am, aren’t I?” Adam’s voice was soft, awed and afraid. “I should have known. My dreams are never like this.”

“Like how?”

Adam paused for a long moment. He said, “Clear. It feels like it’s real.”

Ronan said, “It is real”

“Fuck,” Adam swore. He touched his own arms, as if checking them for something. “Am I scrying? I don’t feel like I am.”

“Shit,” Ronan said, and his lungs filled up with fear. Adam needed someone to spot him if he was scrying. How long have they been in the dream, already? Time didn’t work the same, here. How would they know if it had been too long? He said, “Try to wake up.” 

A series of emotions crossed Adam’s face—too many, and too complex for Ronan to be able to read. Adam breathed in and out as he looked out through the forest at nothing in particular, and said, “I don’t want to wake up, yet. I want to… Just not yet, okay?”

“Okay,” Ronan said, trying to swallow his terror, trusting Adam to know how to use his own magic. “Tell me if you feel like your soul is being sucked out of your body into the primordial dream abyss or whatever the fuck.” 

Adam huffed sharply. “I’ll let you know.” 

“So you don’t want to wake up, what _do_ you want to do?” 

Ronan had half expected the answer to be to figure out what the fuck was happening, why this was happening, because Adam always wanted to figure shit out. Ronan would rather just enjoy this while it lasted. It was peaceful with Adam here to temper the lightning storm inside him. He wanted to see if he could make Adam smile like that, again.

And now that he knew this was the real Adam, he had the strange desire to show him around the place, show off his favorite things, let him see everything. The desire was overpowering, even more so than the desire to kick him out so he could put his walls back up. 

“Hmm.” Adam twirled in place, observing the forest around him. He looked lighter than he had a second ago, even though this could be dangerous. It felt dangerous. Adam said, “Is it yours or is it both of ours?”

Ronan said, “I don’t know. Do something. Make something happen.”

Adam looked up at the sky. After a moment, it lightened, but didn’t clear. The clouds became near-white and started to drop fluffy snowflakes into the air. They got caught in Adam’s fair eyelashes and his hair, dusted his shoulders. He smiled a joyful, uncomplicated smile, and Ronan drank it in. It was a good look on him, so rare that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it.

It was more difficult to hide emotions in a dream—it was all subconscious, and so posturing or hiding anything meant hiding it from yourself, which required a specific sort of effort. It wasn’t impossible, but it was clear that Adam was unpracticed at it. He was used to the physicality of the real world—where he could school his face blank and not have it marred by stray thoughts, good or bad. 

Ronan made the clouds part in the sky so that a perfect ray of sunlight shone through, but he wasn’t looking at it—he was looking at Adam. With his face tilted back, his eyes, usually a stormy blue, caught fire in the light of the sun. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed from the cold. 

Ronan said, “Both of ours, I think.” 

Adam looked at him, and his eyebrows raised just enough to let Ronan know that he’d caught whatever look was on his face when he’d been thinking about pressing his lips to the heat of his rosy skin. 

Ronan wasn’t as practiced at this as he should have been, either. It had been a long time since he’d had someone in his head. 

Adam said, “Both of ours. Interesting.” 

They walked through the forest for a long time, turning dust motes into butterflies, changing the seasons, creating light and sound and growth where there was none. Dreamer and Magician, side by side. 

It felt right in a way Ronan wouldn’t have expected. It felt like a step, and not just one that would help him wake his mother, or find Glendower. One that lit everything up inside and showed it to Adam, the one person on earth he most wanted to see it. 

They came across a craggy burst of mountain rock with a crack in it just wide enough for a person to get through. Adam said, “What’s in there?” 

“Nothing special,” Ronan said, and kept walking. 

But Adam had stopped in front of the cave and said, “Show me.”

So Ronan did. 

The cave was small and it hit a dead end not even far enough from the entrance that they lost the light. Colorless crystals jutted out from the rock. At the end of the cave, there was a cluster of flowers exploding through the rock face. 

They were bright, electric blue, swollen to bursting with delicate, rippling petals. They faded into black towards the center until it crashed into yellow like a sunburst stretching out curling, pollen-covered tendrils. Their stems were thick and black and covered with wicked thorns. They were utterly alien, surreal even in a place like this. 

There was something about them that Ronan disliked intensely, though he couldn’t quite place why. But one glance at Adam’s awestruck face told him that he didn’t feel the same. His fingertip hovered above it, not touching, but wanting to. 

Ronan reached down and dug his fingernail into one of the stems to break it off, and stood back up. He handed it to Adam as he brushed past him, casual, like an afterthought. One he regretted when Adam’s finger caught one of the thorns and he said, “Ow,” and then, “It’s pretty. What’s it do?”

“Nothing, Parrish, it’s a goddamn flower.” 

Outside of the cave, it was summer—sticky and humid, buzzing with cicada song and crackling energy. 

He started to climb up the rocky surface of the mountain. There were easy footholds leading up, like it was meant to be climbed. He heard Adam follow behind him.

It took longer than Ronan thought it would, and by the time they’d reached the overlook, sweat was dripping down his temples and pooling in the small of his back. He sat down, breathing hard, and Adam collapsed next to him. 

He wiped sweat from his brow and pushed his hair back from his face. Adam said, “Couldn’t you have dreamt a way to get us up here without so much work? Jesus.” 

“Never knew you to be lazy, Parrish.”

“I would prefer to save my energy, if that’s alright with you.” 

“Fine. Next time I’ll dream us a magical balloon to float us up here. Happy?”

Adam didn’t answer, but he looked pleased enough. He took in the view, finally, and gasped in a breath. “Wow.”

It was sunset—the sky pink and gold fading into violet, its light kissing the tops of the trees, and the rolling, green mountains in every direction. 

They sat watching it until it was night, and the sky was littered with stars, with colorful, swirling nebulas like you could only see in photos of deep space, like it came out of a textbook. It was Adam’s doing, he knew, and he could barely look at it for how lovely it was. 

Adam said, “Is it always like this?” Ronan looked at him and saw his eyes wide and trained on the stars. “Your dreams?”

Ronan’s dreams were a lot of things. They could be frightening or they could be beautiful, but this was so completely other, so much more. He didn’t have the words to explain the way Adam made Ronan’s dreams so much brighter, so much realer, so much more magical than they had ever been when he was alone. 

“No,” Ronan said. “It’s never like this.” 

Adam said, “Ronan,” but he stopped, closed his mouth, swallowed his words. 

“Make something,” Ronan demanded. 

“What?” 

“This is your dream, too, so come on, Parrish, make something fucking cool.” 

Adam said, “I don’t know what to make. What should I make?” 

“I don’t know, man. Surprise me.”

Adam rolled his eyes, and he looked up at the sky once more. Suddenly he was holding something in his hand that Ronan couldn’t quite make out. Adam swirled his arm fancifully in the air, and when he brought it back down, he was holding an ice cream cone. No—he was holding a galaxy, dark and bright and swirling. 

Tentatively, Adam brought it to his mouth and licked it, a barely-there swipe of pink tongue. He said, “Hmm.”

“What’s it taste like?” Ronan breathed. 

Rather than try to describe it, Adam held the ice cream cone out to him. Ronan leaned forward and wrapped his mouth around the burning cold tip of it before he could second guess himself. 

It tasted like stars. 

Ronan licked his lips clean and said, “Not bad.”

The way Adam was looking at him—it was raw. There was something barely restrained just behind his eyes that Ronan would give anything to see let loose. And suddenly Ronan could almost see what Gansey meant. He could almost fool himself into believing Adam could want him back. 

Adam looked away. He said, “How long have we been here?”

“Hm, let me just check my magical dreamworld watch that keeps accurate time, oh wait—”

Adam shoved him so hard he toppled onto his side. A wild laugh shot out of Ronan’s throat and when he turned back to Adam, it was just enough to catch the tail end of a smirk that left his expression afterward dour and regretful. “We should go back,” Adam said. “Just in case.”

“Okay,” Ronan said. He hoped he didn’t look nearly as reluctant as he felt. “So wake up.”

Adam nodded and closed his eyes, but after only a couple of moments, they opened wide again and Adam said, “What if I can’t come back?”

Ronan’s heart swelled with feeling. “If you want to come back, we’ll figure out how to do it, Magician.”

“Okay,” Adam said. And he closed his eyes. 

He remained that way for several seconds before Ronan said, “What’s the hold up?” 

Adam’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know. I can’t seem to wake up. Maybe you should go first.” 

“What if you get stuck here?”

Adam said, “Then you’ll come get me out,” with such unshakable faith that Ronan almost believed him. 

Ronan took the hand Adam was using to hold the flower and held it up between them. “Maybe if you touch one of the thorns you’ll wake up. Like fucked-up opposite-Sleeping Beauty.”

Adam _hmm’d,_ thoughtfully. He held up his hand. “Maybe if you bring my pricked finger out with you when you wake up, it’ll wake me, too.” 

It wasn’t a bad idea, but Ronan didn’t like the idea of it, so he said, “That’s stupid.” 

“Just try it.”

Annoyed, Ronan grabbed Adam’s wrist tightly, and focused on the tiny droplet of blood that still clung, impossibly, to the tip of one of his elegant fingers. He looked into Adam’s stormy sea eyes, and he woke up. 

Ronan was hovering above himself, with a perfect bird’s eye view of his own sleeping figure next to Adam Parrish’s. Adam was on his stomach, one arm dangling over the edge of the mattress and reaching across the floor to hook the tips of his middle and index fingers gently around Ronan’s. 

He was asleep, and then he wasn’t. Ronan watched his eyes blink open and blearily attempt to focus. When they did, they landed unerringly on Ronan’s face, his gaze thoughtful and unguarded. His fingers moved against Ronan’s almost imperceptibly. 

And then Ronan was back in his body. His eyes shot open. Adam’s hand was next to his, close, but not touching. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have known it had happened at all. Was that what Adam wanted? 

Ronan uncurled the fist his other hand was locked in, and he grunted in pain. In his hand was the dream flower. The little fucker had stuck him with its thorns and his palm was sticky with blood. Adam was up and out of bed a second later. He crouched beside Ronan and gently plucked the flower from his hand, placing it on his nightstand. He said, “Hold on, I’ll get you something for that.”

“It’s fine,” Ronan croaked.

From the bathroom, Adam said, “Shut up.” 

Ronan took the moment he had alone to look up at the ceiling and pull in a shaky breath. What had just happened? Had he been at risk of sharing his dreams with Adam this whole time? Had he done it before and not realized? Would they do it again? 

Adam said he wanted to do it again. 

He came back, handed Ronan a rag, and said, “Put pressure on it.”

Ronan did and he watched Adam sit cross-legged in front of him and open a small first aid kit. He lined up several items in the scant amount of space keeping their knees from touching. 

Adam ripped open a packet with a little wet wipe inside. It smelled sharply of alcohol, and Adam took Ronan’s hand, cradled it in his palm, and pressed it to the first wound. 

Ronan hissed, “Motherfuck.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Adam said, his mouth barely turned up at the edges. 

He cleaned the rest of the punctures, meticulous, while Ronan cursed at him. The more creative the cursing, the more Adam’s smile grew, so naturally, Ronan couldn’t help himself. 

And then Ronan had to endure the strange intimacy of Adam bandaging his wounds with care, practiced and sure. His touch was electric. With his smile absent, his face was pinched with concern. The concern couldn’t have been over the wounds—they would heal quickly. They were deep and gushy but just pinpricks. 

The concern was for what had just happened, but he didn’t seem inclined to address it any more than Ronan. 

When he was finished, Ronan looked down at his hand, all covered in gauze and white bandage wrappings, stretched out his fingers and said, “This seems like overkill.” 

Adam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, God forbid you actually take care of your injuries properly. Next time I’ll just let you get an infection from rubbing your open wounds in the dirt.”

“Gee, thanks,” Ronan said, but he meant it. For caring whether Ronan got an infection or not. For taking the time and effort to patch him up without needing to. His heart soared in his chest. 

Adam replaced all of the first aid materials in their little box, but before he closed it, he took out an off-brand band-aid and curled it around his own pricked finger. 

Ronan snorted in disbelief and he watched the tips of Adam’s ears become a bright shade of pink, obvious enough to detract significantly from the scathing glare on his face that was daring Ronan to comment. 

Ronan had commented all he intended to, so he just watched Adam push himself off the ground, take the kit back to the bathroom, and close the door behind him. 

He inspected the bandages—the careful precision of them. Band-aids wouldn’t have stuck to the palm of his hand for long—he knew that—Adam knew that. But there was something about it, anyway. He ran his fingertips over the gauze, reverent. 

The shower ran for less than five minutes, and in that time Ronan hadn’t managed to pull himself together, even a little. 

When Adam emerged, his hair was a damp, attractive mess. He wore a towel around his waist and water dripped tantalizingly down his tan, freckled chest. Ronan tore his eyes away and swallowed. 

He shoved himself off the floor, one-handed, and tripped over the blanket he’d used to sleep with. He thought he should make some excuse, for why he had to leave, but he couldn’t think of one, so he just shoved his feet into wet combat boots without a word. 

“Wait,” Adam said. Ronan turned around and Adam was holding the dream flower out for him to take. 

Ronan took a breath and said, “You keep it.”

“Yeah?” Adam looked unsure, his hand still outstretched, and then he brought it to his chest, his hand curled protectively around it. A brief, hesitant smile lit his face, and he said, “Okay.”

Ronan was on fire. He needed to get out of here. He grunted, “What am I gonna do with a fucking flower?” 

His clothes were still in a wet heap on the floor, and he snarled at them as if it would intimidate them into drying. 

Adam said, “Put it in a vase?” and then, softly, “You can just wear mine. I don’t mind.”

Ronan risked a glance at him and found him red-faced and sheepish. It was the most beautiful thing Ronan had ever fucking seen. He was shooting for teasing when he said, “You don’t mind, huh?” but he sounded breathless. 

The corner of Adam’s mouth rose in a half-smile. He said, “Shut up.” 

Suddenly Ronan didn’t want to leave at all. He wanted to see how many different smiles he could coax out of Adam. He wanted to keep making him blush, making him feed that flame of hope in his chest. 

Adam said, “Go get ready for school.”

Ronan said, “Like fuck,” but he let himself get manhandled out of the door with happiness bubbling up inside him. 

Before Adam shut the door in his face, he caught a quick flash of perfect teeth. 

When he got to Monmouth, Gansey was at his desk, shoving books into his bag. He glanced up when Ronan slammed the door, a mild look on his face, about to scold him for being unnecessarily loud, or coming home in the wee hours of the morning, but then he stopped with his mouth hanging open.

Gansey’s eyes darted down Ronan’s body—to the faded yellow thrift-store graphic tee with some sort of old, cracked advertisement on the chest, the sweatpants that were a little too short—and they suddenly became very wide when they met Ronan’s again. Ronan refused to break eye contact, a silent _don’t say a word_ in his gaze, that Gansey predictably ignored. 

“Oh my,” Gansey said. “Those are Adam’s.”

Ronan threw his heavy, wet jeans at Gansey’s face. “Fuck off.”

“Jesus,” Gansey said, standing up. “What happened to your hand?”

Ronan considered how much he wanted to say. He would have to tell all of them about the dreaming eventually, but he didn’t want to, just yet. 

Ronan scoffed and went to the kitchen/bathroom/laundry to take a burrito out of the freezer and throw it in the microwave. As he did this, he said, “Nothing, man, it’s barely an injury. Parrish is just a paranoid bastard.”

Gansey stood in the doorway with a mug cupped in his hands. “Parrish did that?”

“Well I sure as fuck didn’t.” 

“I see.” Gansey took a sip of coffee. “So you spent the night at his place, then.”

Ronan opened and closed a cupboard door just to hear it slam. “Yup.”

“And how was it?”

Ronan sighed. He leaned both of his hands on the counter and stared into the microwave. He said, “Weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Donno.” Ronan spun around and brought his wrist to his mouth so he could feel leather between his teeth. “He was acting bizarro as soon as I got there. All jumpy and shit. And then…” And then he slipped into Ronan’s dream like he belonged there. “Whatever.” 

Gansey stepped towards him and touched the bandages around his hand, and Ronan obediently held it out for him to examine. Gansey said, “What did this?”

“Some thorns.” That sounded too threatening so he course-corrected. “A flower.” And that sounded too nice, so he said, “Big blue fucker.” 

“A dream?”

“Yeah.”

Ronan looked at the bandages for another moment before curling his hand into a fist and taking it back. He thought about showering, and he was torn between keeping the bandaging as pristine as possible, or fucking it up so Adam had to bandage him up all over again.

“He uses the lotion,” Ronan said. “It was in his bed.”

Gansey’s eyebrows jolted up. “In… oh.”

Ronan felt hot, suddenly, sweaty. Mortified. He said, “Fuck you, not like that. Shit, Gansey, get your mind outta the goddamn gutter.” 

“Right,” Gansey said, unconvinced. “Terribly sorry.” 

But it was too late. The thought of it simmered in his gut now, burning him from the inside. 

Ronan ripped open the microwave door and took a bite of his burrito. Through the molten-hot mouthful, he said, “Get the fuck out so I can shower, asshole.” 

Gansey let out a weary sigh. He said, “Fine. Does that mean you’re coming to school today?”

“It means I’m taking a fucking shower.”

Gansey left and Ronan turned on the water. He shoveled the burrito down his throat while he waited for the temperature to reach scalding. He stripped out of his clothes—Adam’s clothes, soaked in the scent of his cheap laundry detergent. 

He was already hard before he even got under the spray of water, already desperate. He draped his left arm over the shower curtain rod so it wouldn’t get wet, and his mind was a cacophony of devastating thoughts. 

Adam’s wild grin.

Adam’s tongue carefully lapping at galaxy ice cream.

Adam coating his rough, elegant hands in lotion, touching himself, alone, taking quiet, hitching breaths. 

When he answered the door last night, he’d been flushed, breathing hard. Ronan had thought it was strange at the time, but maybe he’d just run to the door from using the bathroom, or maybe he’d been scrying, or maybe—maybe he'd been... 

Ronan choked on a gasp, and came, embarrassingly quickly. His head thunked onto cold, wet tile, and he whispered, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes i have to put adam bandaging ronan into every fic lmao what of it.......


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It didn’t escape his attention that Ronan was touching him more than usual. He had always been tactile, and there was nothing markedly different about the way he was acting now and how he normally displayed friendly camaraderie with Gansey or Noah, or even Blue. But there was something—something in the frequency of it, like he had always wanted to touch Adam this often, and was only now giving himself permission to do it. 

After he closed the door in Ronan’s face, Adam stood in the middle of his apartment for a long moment, heat on his skin and warmth curled in his chest.

They needed to talk about all of this—what it meant, how it happened. But Adam was still riding the incredible high of that dream and the zing in the palm of his hand while Ronan’s rested in it, listening to the poetry of Ronan’s filthy mouth, and feeling his lovely, kind heart, opened up to him with clear and deliberate purpose. 

Adam couldn’t afford to think about any of that right now, and that was why it was a good thing that he’d kicked Ronan out and he was no longer here. It was what Adam wanted. 

His fingers floated idly over the silky petals of the flower that was still in his hand, the points of its thorns turned and rested in such a way that he was safe. He looked at it, again, and was just as taken with it as he was in the dream. It seemed even stranger, more vibrant against the muted backdrop of his room.

Ronan had dreamt this into being for him—his third gift, more obvious than even the mixtape in its meaning. Flowers for someone you liked. Adam thought of the cheap flower that he’d sent Blue right after they first met—how had been a declaration of his intent. 

Adam’s heart soared and he was smiling, alone in his apartment, giddy and foolish. 

He rummaged around his room for something to put the flower in. He didn’t have any vases, so he settled for an empty Coke can, which he filled with tap water. But he found that the edge of the aluminum threatened to cut into the stem, so he filled an empty water bottle, instead. The blossom was so big and heavy that it very nearly toppled the whole thing over, so he had to brace it with some books to keep it from falling. He’d have to find something more suitable for it. 

***

Adam slammed on the brakes as some kind of object fell to the asphalt in the direct line of the Hondayota’s trajectory through the parking lot of Monmouth Manufacturing. A second later, he saw another object sail through the air—this time, at least, a safe distance away from Adam’s car. The point of origin was the roof of the factory. 

Adam put the car in park right where he’d stopped, because pulling up any closer would leave it more fully in the line of fire. He ripped the keys from the ignition and got out to look up at the roof, eyes squinting against the harsh afternoon sun. 

He heard a chorus of laughter followed by a shout of, “Come on, put your back into it!” 

Something was sent careening towards Adam, landing about 10 feet to his left. He startled and reared back on instinct. He yelled, “Hey, watch it!”

A blonde head appeared at the edge of the rooftop and yelled back, “Adam!”

A shaved head appeared next to him which said, “Parrish, get the fuck up here!”

Adam sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to be studying with Gansey, after all. He’d have to make time for it later. 

He let himself in to Monmouth, jimmying the lock with ease, and then took the back stairs up to the rooftop. He’d seldom been up there—it wasn’t a usual hangout spot for them, not when they had so many others which were more preferable. 

He spotted Gansey, first, lounging in a beach chair with Gucci sunglasses on his face. 

Adam dropped his bag and said, “I’m surprised you’re letting them do this.”

Gansey smiled and toasted him with a bottle of cherry Coke. “I’m supervising.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you, Adam, I do try.”

Ronan put Noah in a headlock and ruffled his hair. “We don’t need supervising, do we, Noah?”

Adam snorted. “Clearly.”

Noah was perpetually rumpled in his Aglionby uniform, but Ronan had changed into savagely ripped jeans and a loose black tank that showed his thick, bare arms, and an expanse of pale rib cage on either side of him. His skin was flushed red and glistening with exertion. 

Ronan said, “Your turn.”

He tossed a beat-up tennis racket at Adam and he caught it easily. He turned it over in his hand, examining the tattered plastic strings. “What exactly are we doing, again?”

Ronan grabbed his arm and tugged him closer to the edge of the roof. He tossed an empty tin can up in the air and it dropped, unceremoniously, to the ground. 

Adam raised a pointed eyebrow. Ronan sighed, put upon at having to explain himself. He said, “You’re supposed to hit it, Parrish.” 

When Adam was satisfied that his judgemental glare had been internalized, he gestured for Ronan to go again. He did—this time with an empty beer bottle. Adam swung and the bottle caught the edge of the racket’s rim and went spiraling down, pathetically, with very little forward momentum. 

“That was fucking sad,” Ronan said. He clapped a hand to Adam’s shoulder, bracingly, as if he’d just broken some terrible news. 

Adam sighed, but didn’t disagree. He adjusted his grip on the racket a little, not knowing if it would be more correct or make any difference whatsoever. He said, “Go again.”

Ronan tossed another bottle and this time Adam landed a solid, satisfying hit and watched it go sailing across the parking lot, shattering onto the pavement. There was a chorus of whoops all around him, and Ronan’s hand was on his shoulder again, shaking him in an enthusiastic, celebratory way. Adam found himself smiling, stupidly proud in the face of a fantastically stupid accomplishment. 

He handed the racket back to Ronan, who took it with a Rottweiler’s grin. Ronan tossed a strange bit of rusty metal, like a piece of old machinery, and Adam stepped back out of the range of his swing. The muscles in Ronan’s back and shoulders and arms all tightened simultaneously, shining in the sunlight. He let out a soft grunt as the thing made contact with his racket and he sent it soaring in a beautiful arch. 

Adam didn’t watch where it landed, because, instead, he was watching Ronan turn back to him, triumph in his expression, radiant and glowing. Ronan said, “That’s how it’s fuckin’ done. Take notes, amateurs.” 

He high fived Noah, and then presented his hand to Adam, who reluctantly also submitted to the gesture. Ronan pantomimed an elaborate air high five with Gansey which struck Adam as incredibly dorky and incredibly endearing. 

The three of them alternated turns, until Blue showed up in the parking lot on her bike, screaming, “What the hell, Lynch?!” presumably having almost been hit. 

Ronan shouted over the ledge, “That’s how we treat maggots ‘round these parts!” 

“Ronan,” Gansey chastised, and then stood up from his beach chair and yelled down at her to come on up. 

Blue was a formidable adversary in their game. There was a lot of power in such a small package. Adam wasn’t sure of the rules, or who was winning, but there was a definite spirit of competition between the five of them. 

Gansey inserted himself into the game with a lofty, “I believe it’s my turn, now, Lynch,” before pulling the racket out of his hands. 

Adam snuck a glance at Ronan, who looked back and rolled his eyes, likely having come to the same conclusion he had, which was that Gansey was only joining to show off for Blue. Adam had to stifle his snicker. Ronan didn’t bother. 

Gansey stepped perpendicular to the roof’s edge, shifting on his feet, tapping the concrete with his racket like a batter up to plate. He knocked the tin can out of the park, so to speak, and straight into the BMW’s bumper. 

“Oh my,” Gansey said. 

“Dick, I will fucking end you if there’s even a scratch on her, I swear to God!”

“I am… terribly sorry, Ronan.” 

“Can none of you people aim for shit?” 

“Hey, speak for yourself,” Blue said. “You’re the one who almost took out the stop sign.”

Adam nodded. “Destruction of public property doesn’t seem that off-brand, but I have a hard time believing he hit that on purpose.” 

Ronan grinned wickedly and patted his upper back. “Next time I’m taking that thing the fuck out, just you watch.” 

Adam huffed, but it was impossible not to smile back. “I’d like to see you try. That was a lucky shot.” 

Ronan leaned in to growl into Adam’s ear, the heat of his breath brushing skin and he said, “I’ll show you a lucky shot, dickhead. Watch and learn.” 

Adam couldn’t breathe. His face fell forward, chasing the heat of Ronan’s where he could feel that he’d pulled away. His eyes fluttered open. When had he closed them? Ronan was crossing the roof, his back blessedly turned so that he couldn’t see the likely ridiculous expression on Adam’s face. 

But Adam’s gratitude was cut short, because that was when he noticed Gansey’s eyes lingering on him, instead, curiously pleased behind his sunglasses. Adam swiped a hand over his face, trying to get it back under control, and when he looked at Gansey again, he was smiling at Ronan, joyful, dimples on full display. 

Ronan did not hit the stop sign again.

After a while, they were all sweaty and overheated, and between turns Blue had claimed the beach chair. For a moment Adam was surprised Ronan didn’t try to fight her for it out of petty vindictiveness, but he didn’t, because Ronan was stuck to Adam’s side the whole time. Adam was elated by how obvious he was being, even though it wouldn’t have been unless you were looking for it. 

It didn’t escape his attention that Ronan was touching him more than usual. He had always been tactile, and there was nothing markedly different about the way he was acting now and how he normally displayed friendly camaraderie with Gansey or Noah, or even Blue. But there was something—something in the frequency of it, like he had always wanted to touch Adam this often, and was only now giving himself permission to do it. 

And Adam, for his part, tried to reciprocate in kind. He was afraid that Ronan would stop if he didn’t, and he wanted Ronan to know that it was okay, more than okay, that Adam craved it, lapped up the attention like he was starving. He shouldn’t have been starving. This was far more than Adam was used to, but he found himself gluttonous for more. 

And so when Ronan rested a hand on his arm, Adam leaned into it, when Ronan kicked him to try to throw off his game, he kicked back, when Ronan wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Adam brought his own to wrap around his back. He wasn’t quite bold enough to let it slide down to his waist, but the thought did occur to him and he thought that Ronan probably wouldn’t even stop him. It was hard to think past the little thrills shooting through him after every brush of skin, after every warm touch, but he had to maintain enough sense not to go too far.

They were taking a breather, now, leaning on the wall at the edge of the rooftop and looking out across the sprawl of Henrietta. Ronan’s shoulder was pressed firmly into his, a warm and solid pressure that Adam allowed himself, once more, to indulge in. 

Softly, Ronan threw a thumb over his shoulder and said, “So you don’t seem too upset about the loser duo back there.”

“Huh?” Adam said. It took him a moment to realize he was talking about Blue and Gansey, who had been more carefree with their touches, too. He had noticed, but it had taken a distant backseat to Adam’s more pressing concerns. Like Ronan’s eyes looking out over the landscape and how they lit up in the pink and orange sunset. No doubt Blue and Gansey were busy canoodling behind him—he could hear the distant sound of their chatter—but he elected not to look, because Blue would probably make a knowing face at him, and he was already too flustered to be able to deal with her input on the matter. 

It occurred to Adam that maybe Ronan didn’t know he knew, or maybe didn’t know that he was okay with it. He said, “Oh, you mean Blue and Gansey? No, I’m not upset.”

“Why the hell not? They kind of deserve it.”

Adam snorted. “I don’t know. They’re good together. And yeah, it sucked, and I was pissed off for a little while, but it’s alright. What Blue and I had was hardly anything, anyway. We never even kissed.”

Ronan’s eyes caught his, abruptly. “You didn’t?”

“No.”

“But you wanted to,” Ronan said, accusatory. 

Adam shrugged, and it jostled Ronan’s arm where it was still pressed against his. “Yeah, but she didn’t.” Ronan’s eyebrows furrowed, like he was annoyed on Adam’s behalf. It made Adam laugh. “Honestly, it’s fine. I don’t think about it much anymore. I want them to be happy.” 

Ronan didn’t reply, just made a sound of acknowledgment in his throat. Adam wanted to tease him. Say something like,  _ anyway, I have a crush on someone else, now, _ just to see his face. But that was too risky, so instead Adam grabbed the racket from where it was propped against the wall and said, “But thanks for caring, Lynch.”

Ronan scowled indignantly. “I don’t care, fuck you.”

“Sure,” Adam said, smiling, and he pushed him out of the way so he could take his turn. It was a pretty terrible hit, and he was beginning to suspect that that first, good solid one had been beginner’s luck. 

Ronan said, “God, you suck at this.” 

Adam glared at him, and went to take another hit because that, for some reason, did not seem to be against the rules. 

He gripped the handle with both hands and then in the space of a blink Ronan was behind him—close enough that Adam could feel his breath on the back of his neck. Adam froze. His stomach dropped to the floor and then lurched up into his chest. 

Ronan’s arms wrapped around him and his hands slid over Adam’s. He said, “Like this.” Adam’s brain was all white noise static, barely functioning. He let Ronan move his hands to grip the handle better, kick his feet into a different stance, and guide his swing, their bodies swaying together with the motion, Ronan’s chest pressed to his back. “Got it?”

Adam forced out a vague affirmative. “Mm,” even though he wasn’t absorbing tennis technique as much as he was absorbing Ronan’s body heat and the smell of him—that fresh body wash and sweat and sun. He wanted to turn his face and bury his nose in Ronan’s throat. Instead he let Ronan step back and attempted a shaky swing. To his surprise, the rusty metal thing he’d hit went soaring across the parking lot, far enough that he could barely see it after it landed. 

“See?” Ronan said, “You just gotta learn from the pro.” 

Adam got in close enough to elbow him. “Oh, so you’re a pro, now?” 

“Always have been. I’m a fucking protigy.” 

“Says the man who can’t hit a target.” 

“That stop sign is a block away, asshole. Serena Williams couldn’t hit that.” 

“She probably could.”

He stepped into Adam’s space and snarled, half smiling, “Say that to my fucking face.” 

Adam laughed and pushed him back. “I just did.”

Ronan’s face broke out into a grin, and he launched himself towards Adam. He dodged, but Ronan’s hands grabbed at him. He tried to get Adam into a headlock, like he’d done to Noah earlier, but Adam kept managing to slip out of his grip. 

Ronan said, “C’mere, you wily fuck.”

They grappled, laughing, shouting nonsense, both trying to get the upper hand. 

Adam managed to jab a toe into the back of Ronan’s knee, bringing him down, but Ronan held onto Adam and dragged him down with him. 

Adam yelled “Ow, you dick! Let go of me,” but his words were undermined by the breathless joy in his voice. 

Ronan managed to swivel himself from underneath Adam and wrestle him to the ground until he was pinned beneath Ronan’s weight, his hands pressing Adam’s forearms down so he could no longer move them. 

Ronan said, “Gotcha.”

Heat pooled in Adam’s belly, an instantaneous rolling boil. He wanted to lean up and devour Ronan’s laughter, drag him down so his body was closer, as close as he could get. He writhed in Ronan’s grip, feeling the strength of him, and he wanted so badly he almost couldn’t remember why it was a bad idea. 

He was skating a very dangerous edge. Pleading, Adam said, “Ronan.” 

Ronan withdrew. He let go of Adam’s arms and collapsed on his back next to him, breathing hard and fast. He said, “Looks like Dick and Jane left. You think they’re making out, or what?” 

Adam’s heart was hammering wildly. Even just the sound of Ronan’s deep, roughened voice saying  _ making out _ had his insides twisting up with desire. He was a mess. He huffed out a laugh, mostly breath, and said, “Maybe.” 

Ronan’s head turned towards him, but Adam kept his eyes on the sky. Ronan said, “You really don’t care.” 

“No,” Adam said, and he did turn to look at him, then. Ronan’s brows were drawn together in an uncharacteristically soft and thoughtful expression. 

He wanted to grab Ronan’s hand. He wanted to kiss him so he never had any doubt about what Adam felt. He didn’t, of course, because Adam was the one with doubt. The butterflies in his stomach turned on a dime, festering into nauseating guilt. He couldn’t do this, not to Ronan. 

He looked away, and just as he did, Ronan leapt to his feet. He was leaving, Adam realized, crossing the rooftop in a few long strides. Adam scrambled after him, having just enough sense left to grab his bag. 

It was only as Ronan reached the door to the stairs that Adam managed to gather enough courage to stop him. “Wait.” Ronan stopped and turned to face him, and then, with nerves eating him alive, Adam said, “We should try the dreaming again.”

“Sure,” Ronan said, easily. “Tonight?” 

“Not tonight, I’ve got—I’ve got homework.” It was a flimsy excuse. Adam always had homework. But he needed time to prepare himself. 

“You free Friday night?”

“Yeah. I’m free.”

“Kay. I’ll swing by St. Agnes after school.” 

Without knowing why he said it, why he felt it, Adam said, “I was actually thinking we could go to the Barns. If that’s okay.”

“Okay,” Ronan breathed. He cleared his throat and said, more firmly, “Yeah. Whatever. I’ll pick you up.”

Adam had Blue in the passenger’s seat of the Hondayota, her bike hanging out of the trunk. He turned the stereo off as soon as he started the car, so as to avoid her unsolicited commentary about Ronan Lynch. But, of course, she wasn’t about to let a little thing like that stop her.

She said, “So, did you make your move or what?”

Adam rolled his eyes, grateful to have the excuse of keeping his focus on the road so he didn’t have to see her face when he said, “No.”

“Why  _ not?” _ She said, sounding petulant and exasperated “We gave you plenty of privacy to do your stupid boy mating ritual.”

Adam sputtered, “It wasn’t—I’m—” It was embarrassing to know for sure that they’d left him and Ronan alone on purpose, though he shouldn’t have been surprised after the way Gansey caught him practically swooning just from Ronan’s breath in his ear. He wasn’t sure what it had been for Ronan, but ‘stupid boy mating ritual’ unfortunately felt more accurate than Adam was willing to admit. He thought fitfully of all that sustained contact—warm hands and jostling shoulders and their faces inches apart. “I almost kissed him,” Adam said, dazed just from the memory. “I wanted to.”

“God, this is infuriating. Why didn’t you kiss him?”

Adam tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I still haven’t decided if I’m going to, yet.”

He could tell that Blue was going to yell at him, so he cut her off before she could say more than, “Wh—”

But all Adam could force out was, “I’ve never—”

Blue swallowed whatever she’d been about to say. “Never what?”

There was unbearable weakness in revealing this truth, made worse by the fact of who he was talking to and what they once had. He took a long moment to continue because his throat was too tight to speak, and when he could manage it, the words came tumbling out at once, too loud and too frantic. “I’ve never— _ loved _ —anyone. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I can.”

“Adam,” she said, voice softer than it had been. “That’s ridiculous. Everyone knows how to love. And you! You’ve loved plenty. You love Gansey. You love me. You love Noah. You love Ronan.” 

Adam wanted to believe it was true. It felt true when she said it. He couldn’t know if it was the same, but in that moment Adam could feel a current of magic all around him, the sensation of leaves brushing his skin like an attempt at comfort, and he added, “Cabeswater.”

“See? That’s a lot of love. So if that’s what you’re worried about, don’t be.”

But he couldn’t help it, not when he knew how strong Ronan’s love was, how enduring. He said, “What if it’s not enough?”

“It’s more than enough.”

He spat, “It wasn’t for you.”

“That’s not fair.” 

“I know.” Adam deflated. He pulled to a full stop at a stop sign and closed his eyes for a moment. “Sorry.”

“It was never that you weren’t enough, Adam. We weren’t compatible like that, and I had already fallen for Gansey, and—I don’t know. It’s so hard to know ahead of time if things are going to work out like you want, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.” 

Adam took a breath, and let the bitter truth of it wash over him. Blue continued, “Anyway, it seems like an awful lot to have to decide you’re in love with someone before you even kiss them.”

“But Blue, It’s  _ Ronan. _ It’s not just someone. You know him. He’s all or nothing.” He made a familiar left onto Fox Way and softly, he said, “I can’t fuck this up.” 

“Okay,” she said, thoughtfully. “Well, why don’t you imagine being in love with him?”

“What?”

“It worked to decide if you wanted to kiss him, so, I don’t know. Think about holding his hand, taking him on dates, seeing him at the end of a long day, telling each other your deepest darkest secrets, that kind of thing.”

It seemed, weirdly, like the kind of thing they already did, minus the moniker of ‘date’ and the hand holding he was already desperate for. It confused him, and he said, “Is that what love is?” 

“I don’t know, kind of, I guess. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Adam pulled to a stop along a stretch of curb in front of Blue’s house. He didn’t turn to look at her when he asked, “Try?”

“It’s like…” Blue sighed. Adam did turn his head to look at her, but her eyes were on 300 Fox Way. She said, “Home. It feels like coming home.”

But Adam didn’t have a home, not really. He never did. Not one that made him feel safe, that made him feel… love. St. Agnes was a stopgap, and he was grateful for it, but was it home? Maybe that was his problem. He didn’t know what home felt like, either, so how could he ever hope to know love when he found it? 

“Home,” he said, no less confused. Adam looked at the fanciful architecture of Blue’s home, pictured the sprawling, comfortable chaos of the inside and the way she belonged there. He wondered if he would ever have something like that. “Okay. Thanks.” 

The drive to St. Agnes was rife with tension—his mind a jumble of thoughts and emotions and memories of sensation. His emotional crisis was clashing spectacularly with his body’s revved up, sparking need. In the wake of his visit to Monmouth, he felt strung out, craving—something.

He ran up the stairs, thinking maybe he needed the release of energy, but that only got his blood pumping, his heart racing, and he remembered how Ronan’s arms looked after the follow through of a practiced swing of his tennis racket. 

Adam slammed the door shut, tripped out of his shoes and threw his bag on the floor. He leaned back, let the door hold him up. His hand touched the outline of his cock through his jeans, already getting hard. He ripped open his fly and shoved his way into his boxers to take himself in hand, his mind an endless loop of  _ Ronan, Ronan, Ronan. _

That sharp, arrogant grin and the flex of his muscles and the sheen of sweat on his skin—his panting breath and those sounds of exertion that he couldn’t help but let out as he swung his arm over and over. His deep voice growling,  _ watch and learn.  _ His body weight, heavy on top of him, the closeness they both indulged in recklessly, for hours.

Adam gasped. He felt like he was falling, and he realized it was because his knees were buckling. 

He wondered if Ronan had ever done this, helpless with want, unable to think of anything but Adam as he touched himself. It seemed unbelievable that he would have, that there was anything about Adam that was worth picturing like this, but somehow Adam was lucky enough that it was possible. Probable. 

There was a not insignificant chance that Ronan, at one point or another, could be found lounging on his bed at Monmouth, shirt thrown across the room and boxers pulled down to his thighs so he could touch himself to thoughts of Adam Parrish. Adam wondered, not for the first time, what he thought about. What did they do together in Ronan’s fantasies? 

Did he think about Adam’s mouth as much as Adam thought about Ronan’s? Did he think about the warm touch of calloused hands on every inch of him? Did he want Adam on top of him, licking sweat from his flushed, feverish skin? Pulling those noises out of him with every swipe of tongue? 

Adam shuddered with wanting that was too big for his body. The slide of his own hand was too rough, but he couldn’t stop, he was so close, already, and the Ronan in his head arched his back and sighed,  _ Fuck, Adam. _

That was all it took. Adam shuddered, and he came into his own hand just like that, only minutes after getting home. “Oh, Christ,” he said, wrung out, and he slid to the floor.

On Friday night they would dream together, and Adam wasn’t convinced that he would be able to keep his subconscious in check. He was barely holding onto his conscious self. He rested his head on his knees and sat there, on the cold ground, thinking about home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may be wondering—are these two dickheads ever going to get together, or are they just gonna spend the whole fic alternately jerking it to thoughts of each other. The answer is yes :)


End file.
